


Soulmark Hand Prints

by tomioneer



Series: the shape I'm in [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky's PTSD, M/M, Panic Attacks, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, dirty thoughts but no actions, whoop whoop finally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomioneer/pseuds/tomioneer
Summary: Everyone is born with their soulmate's handprint on the back of their neck, and when it is touched by the person it belongs to, it changes color or causes a sensation. Both, sometimes.Steve's is green, always has been. The normal sized hand of a child about his age. The size, Bucky thinks, of his hand.But Bucky's is big and blue, a grown man's hand. It wraps around the back of his neck to dip over his shoulders towards his collarbone. Much too large to be Steve's.It's not enough to stop him loving Steve, but his best friend won't hear a word of it, won't even allow them to discuss it. Then there’s the draft and Project Rebirth, and Steve is bigger but doesn’t think about it. He goes to save Bucky and Bucky is mad as hell at the risk he took, the dumb punk, and also relieved and stubborn because--Steve's hands are a lot bigger now.





	Soulmark Hand Prints

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a mark, a mission, a brand, a scar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081859) by [suzukiblu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu). 



“Steve. _Steve!_ ” Finally, he stops walking, pausing long enough to half-turn and face Bucky.

“What?”

Eyes flashing over Steve’s face--so familiar and foreign all at once, and isn’t that the strangest thing?--he scoffs a little, shakes his head in disbelief. Looking at him now, staring him in the eye, it’s so easy to see Steve honestly hasn’t thought about it yet. Pitching his voice low, stepping in closer, Bucky says, “Your _hand_.”

A frown flickers between Steve’s brows.

“Gimme your hand,” he asks, holding out his right. Steve lifts his left, holds it up straight. Bucky puts their heels together, aligns the joints of their thumbs. There’s nearly a full inch between the tips of his fingers and the tips of Steve’s. This isn’t unusual--what’s remarkable is that his hand is now the _smaller._  And just in case that isn’t enough... he pushes their palms together. Steve pushes back until there's tension in both their arms. “You’re bigger than me now. Doesn’t this mean anything to you?”

“Oh,” Steve breathes. His eyes widen, flash to Bucky’s neck where the thumb of his print in visible under his collar. It’s adorable, really, how startled he looks. “Oh, god, Buck--no. No, that can’t be right...”

Exactly the reaction he didn’t want. Moving his hand up, he hooks his fingers between Steve’s and holds hard. He won’t give up this chance. Steve should know that; Bucky hasn’t given up this fight since they were kids even though everything they know about soul-marks points to another person. Steve is his soulmate. He is Steve’s. Bucky knows, so he pushes. “Isn’t it worth trying?”

“I...” Steve looks up, glances around. Since they’ve stopped the whole group has slowed, and now they’re basically milling around checking on each other. A few are sitting at the bases of trees, and others are still working to set up a smokeless fire. No one’s paying much attention to the pair of them, off to the side as they are, and even those who are have no doubt heard about crazy Barnes and his huge-ass soul-mark. He doesn’t think they’re going to get any trouble from these guys.

In fact, he’s reasonably sure Dum-Dum will clock anyone who tries to give Bucky shit about this now Steve’s gone and rescued them all.

“What if it’s not?” Steve finally asks in an undertone, ducking his head a little.

Bucky shakes his head. “It will be. Steve, please.”

“But _if it’s not_ ,” Steve insists, looking torn. Bucky hates being the one to put that expression there, but by this point he’s willing to do just about anything if it will make Steve _try_.

“Then nothing changes,” Bucky swears. “I’ll still be stupid for you, and you’ll still be a stubborn idiot who won’t let me touch my own damn handprint. But that’s _not gonna happen_. ‘Cause it’s your hand I got, just like you got mine.”

Steve hesitates, glances away.

No. Oh no. _No._ Bucky has come too close to death, he has been through too much, to let Steve wiggle out of this conversation one more time. He speaks fast and earnest, not nearly as slick as he usually tries to be about it. If the war has taught him one thing it’s that there isn’t always time for nice words--just true ones. “It’s always been you. You’re the only one who can be the other half of me, Steve Rogers. Nobody else would feel this right. Nobody can move me like you do with just a look or a word. Nobody else can break my heart just the same. It’s just you, and I _need you_ to give me a chance to prove it.”

Small success: Steve is looking at him again. On the other hand, he still looks uncertain.

The look is wiped away with shock when Bucky steps in close enough that a big breath would push them together. Neither of them breathes for an instant, just in case. Then he looks up, lets his walls fall all the way to the ground, and _begs_ . “Steve, _please_ , I don’t ask for much from you. But please give me this. All I’m asking from you is a _chance_.”

Steve bites his lip and Bucky goes in for the kill--he’s not a damn sniper for nothing, he knows weakness when he sees it--

“Please, Stevie,” he whispers, lips barely moving. “Don’t you wanna touch me?”

“Oh God,” Steve breathes. “Dammit Bucky, you know I do.”

Letting go of Steve’s hand, he grabs the man’s other wrist. Holds it in both his hands and lifts. Steve’s bent knuckles brush his ribs, his arm, his shoulder. He shifts, Steve does, edging to the side around Bucky, like he has to see his hand cover the print to believe it’s happening. Bucky doesn’t mind much as long as he can still watch Steve’s face, watch the nervous, breathless man make up his mind. And then his fingers are spreading out in Bucky’s periphery and his hand is moving on its own, reaching for the first time in their lives for the massive handprint on Bucky’s neck.

Steve’s thumb settles in first, laying itself right over the beginning of the mark. Just like that Bucky can feel it--the beginning of an incredible indescribable _warmth_ \--like nothing he’s ever felt. Lips parting on an unsteady breath, Bucky closes his eyes and tips his head back against Steve’s large hand. The base of his skull fits neatly on the top of Steve’s hand where it wraps around his neck. The more skin Steve touches, his last two fingers having to slip under the loose collar of Bucky’s worn-out shirt, the warmer Bucky feels. It builds and builds until he can’t help but shudder.

Holding his breath is the only reason he doesn’t groan out loud.

This is better than sinking into a hot bath. All his aches and pains, all his tension--leaks away instantly, washed away by this gentle tide of _warmth_ . He’s never felt anything this nice, this gentle--and at the same time, this _exciting_. It’s better than any orgasm he’s ever had, Steve’s touch, and that makes him shake and weave on his feet. His knees want to turn to jelly.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes. There’s something like awe in his voice which is--it’s weird, because Steve’s not the one feeling this good. Slitting his eyes, Bucky can see the puzzled, concerned look taking over Steve’s features. “What...?”

“I knew it was you.” Bucky’s voice is thrumming, raw. “I _knew_ it.”

“How do you feel?”

Bucky laughs, breathless, aroused. Relaxed like he hasn’t been in years. Leaning back into Steve’s grip, he’s amazed and amused by the way Steve simply adjusts to support him, seeming not even to notice his weight. “Like I never want to be farther from you than I am right now.”

Reaching with his left hand, he hooks two fingers around the belt of Steve’s coat. “C’mere, Stevie. Your turn.”

Steve’s eyes darken, and it takes a second to realize Bucky sounds like he usually does after a really _hard_ night. His voice is low and round, words a little slurred like he’s drunk. Bucky _feels_ drunk, or he probably wouldn’t be thinking so much about kissing Steve in front of a hundred or so other men.

The fact that Steve probably wouldn’t protest makes it harder to hold back. Pushing his palm flat on Steve’s chest, he tries to rally a warning look. A _not here_ sort of thing. It doesn’t work; he just winds up sliding his hand up Steve’s front to his shoulder, and then up, around the back of his neck. But he doesn't quite touch him there, not yet, because--

“I wanna see it,” he whispers. “I wanna watch it change when I touch you, Stevie. Wanna see how it looks when your soul realizes I’m right here waitin’ for it.”

“God,” Steve breathes. “Yes. Alright, yeah.” He reaches up--both hands, and Bucky fights not to shudder at the sudden _chill_ of the air--and pushes off his helmet. Drops it to the ground and, after watching Bucky’s face for a second, gets down on his knees.

About a hundred different fantasies burn through him like a flash fire. Most of them involve Steve just like this, his mouth level with Bucky’s crotch, and his mouth open--

His cock twitches and the only reason Steve doesn’t see is because he’s still watching Bucky’s face.

“I want you,” he croons, very softly. It’s hardly a breath even to Bucky’s ear, but Steve’s eyes flash--he _heard_. And _liked_. Bucky has to test this. At the same non-volume he says, “You got such a pretty mouth.”

Steve blushes, and that’s enough for Bucky to know for sure that Steve’s hearing isn’t just fixed, it’s been somehow amplified. Weird, he thinks, and interesting. Useful though. Pushing his fingers into Steve’s hair, he asks, “How much can you hear?”

“Most things,” Steve says simply, shrugging. “There’s a bird two trees over. Mice in the ground. Leave rustling in the wind, and lots of footsteps. Bits of conversation, if I focus. I can hear your heart beating, Bucky.” Closing his eyes, Steve sits back on his haunches and breathes deep. His face makes it seem like it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, and he says as much.

Steve grins. “To me it is. Thought I’d lost you, Mr. Barnes.”

“Not a chance, Mr. Rogers,” he answers. “Now c’mere. Lemme see it.”

Steve tips his head forward, bearing the print. Instead of reach already, Bucky walks around him. Part of Steve’s mark is covered by his collars; it’s little frustrating, but Bucky doesn’t mind. He can take this slow, now he knows he’s getting it. “I’ll never get tired of seeing this,” he confesses, and drops into a crouch. It puts them about even, and he hooks two fingers under Steve’s collars and tugs them down with his left hand.

“You know,” he murmurs. “I touched it once before on accident.”

“What?”

He sounds so startled Bucky can’t help but laugh, pat his shoulder. “When you were being sick in a basin. You were about fifteen? I had to help hold you up, and my hand just bumped the bottom of it. Never told you ‘cause I thought you’d be mad.”

Steve is just very, very still when he asks, “And it didn’t do anything? Bucky--”

“Oh it did,” he interrupts. “When I touch you here,” he says, and brushes a fingertip over part of Steve’s mark, “it turns _gold_. Warm and beautiful. You’re like the goddamn sun, Stevie, even our soul knows it.”

“Yours is white,” Steve breathes, and Bucky stops teasing to listen closely. It’s not unheard of to get sensation and color change, but... he’s heard the stronger it makes you _feel_ something the less likely the color is to change. And his mark has always, always been blue. “Almost invisible now, but once you get your color back it’ll be real clear. Easy to see that...”

“I’m yours,” Bucky whispers, and puts his hand properly over Steve’s mark. He has to slide his hand under the collars of Steve’s uniform like Steve had to do for him. It feels odd, a little. Like there’s an itch in his palm. but then that goes away and he’s left feeling warm again, and fond. “And you’re mine, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“James Barnes,” Steve murmurs, “there’s no call for that sort of formality between us.”

The words come out unbidden, but honest. “I fucking love you, Steve. Don’t--” His breath catches, and he has to close his eyes. He’s choking suddenly, feeling trapped by the thought of such deep loss. He can practically feel the straps cutting into his skin, the needles and sutures pulling, the cuffs on his arms--

He’s crying before he knows it, pulling Steve in tight with the hand on his neck and pressing in against him. “Don’t ever... I can’t lose you, Steve, not you. Anyone but you, I can’t, can’t lose you. I love you, I need you, you’re--you’ve got my _soul_ , Stevie.”

“Hey,” Steve says quickly, “ _Hey_ . Breathe, Buck. I’m right here, I’m not leaving you. If I have any say in it, I’m never leaving you again. I completely stupid for you, James Barnes. You hear me? You’ve got _my_ soul too, but even before I knew that I loved you. And I’ll _keep_ loving you.”


End file.
